The Evil Stepmother

I thought today I’d get something off my chest, something I rarely talk about yet bothers me every second, of everyday. My Dad’s Girlfriend (GF) had such a huge part to play in how things went so wrong, and yet to this day I’m referred to as a narcissist and just generally a terrible person. I’m sure this happens to many people every single day, and I’m sure many of you will relate, so here I am sharing the story of the evil stepmother.

CW: mentions abuse loosely, refers to various mental health issues and some of the symptoms (both true and false) associated. No GC.

As mentioned in ‘A quick “How Do You Do?” Myself and GF have had a really rocky relationship for years and years, which lead to the breakdown in relationship with my Dad and I. 3 years ago I was removed from the family home, and ever since have had next no contact with them. Some how though, I seem to be the topic of conversation a lot between GF and her social media ‘crew’ (because who needs real friends right?) and the one to blame for incidents I’ve not been around for. 3 years, no contact, yet somehow everything is always my fault still? Seems logical. So I thought I’d make this into a little game of true and false, let’s play.

1. On April 1st 2014, my Dad broke my nose, because I’d tried to talk to him, and was told every single time I speak, I’m attention seeking. I played up the role, and antagonised him by squealing at the TV, he said something very nasty, so I threw a sausage roll at him. He then followed me into the kitchen, and punched me in the face 4/5 times. I called the police who took him into custody, and from then on social services didn’t deem it safe for me to return the family home.

On April 1st 2014, I was removed from the family home for causing trouble.

2. For 4 years I was physically, and emotionally abused. I was told things like ‘I should drown myself in the bath because I’m a psychopath like my [late] Mum’, and if I tried to be a part of the family conversations I’d be told ‘We weren’t speaking to you’. I would be chastised for having the radio on in my room if the noise could be heard when people came up to use the toilet even if it couldn’t be heard downstairs. I was told off for moving people’s washing into the dryer, or doing the dishes, or for not knowing someone was planning on having a bath when I got in one. When GF was present if I chose to sit downstairs I’d be made to feel awkward, GF wouldn’t speak to me the whole time, if I was allowed to be a part of the family she’d go upstairs and sulk, creating a massive issue from it. I was too scared to ask my Dad buy me bras so I’d steal GF’s and rather than understanding she cut up my knickers, then deny all knowledge. She’d go searching through my belongings to see if she could find anything of interest, with no suspicions, just being nosey. My things would go missing, and I’d be told no-one knew where they’d gone. I was allowed to go out with them on family days out, I had to stay at home. One time I got pushed into the wines at Tesco by my Dad and left there, they drove home, leaving me there. I protected my Dad from the police on two previous occasions and lied to social services every time. I was bullied for my appearance. I wasn’t allowed friends, I had to babysit and even when I wasn’t I wasn’t allowed to leave the house.

For four years I subjected my Dad and his gf to emotional and psychological abuse. I was the child of Satan, and I did everything in my power to manipulate them and the people around me to believe I was the victim, despite the horrific ordeal I put them through. They repeatedly tried to reach out and support me but I ruined every act of kindness that came my way from them. By putting GF’s laundry in the dryer I was antagonising them, the same goes for every incident above.

3. On the day I left the family home I had told the police I wanted to press charges as I was hurt and angry. After 2 months residing at my Aunt’s I told the police that pressing charges wasn’t worth it, it was risking my Dad’s freedom which meant it was possible my brother could end up in foster care. Not only this, but my brother who was 11/12 at the time would have to give evidence in court. I tried my hardest to drop the charges but I as told that too much evidence had been gathered to just let it slide at this point. So I continued to share my story, and in my victim’s personal statement told the story of how I had been effected by what had happened to me in order to get justice. I was summoned to court which meant if I didn’t attend I was breaking the law.

On the day I left the family home I had fed the police a load of lies, which they had to follow up because of the magnitude of the claims, but as mentioned earlier they removed me from the house for causing trouble. I pressed charges based on these lies to manipulate the situation more, and to keep up with the facade where I was the victim. I did this to hurt and traumatise my Dad and GF more than ever. I was on a mission to destroy their lives. When we went to court I lied about how my story had effected me, using how they felt to imitate how I should feel.

4. As a result of my past I suffer with EUPD and agoraphobia with panic disorder as diagnosed by a psychiatrist. I suffer daily with panic attacks, sometimes triggered, sometimes not triggered. I struggle to leave the house at all. I experience intense moods which change frequently, which I have no control over. I take medications daily to help me get through life. At one point I self medicated with cannabis, but it was never daily, only when I was very very stressed. I rarely drink due to my Mum’s alcoholism. Sometimes I retaliate to the comments made on social media which can aggravate the situation but I don’t before I act because all I feel is the intense anger and betrayal.

As a result of what I put Dad’s GF through (even though she didn’t go through court with my Dad so just the emotional abuse) she now suffers with PTSD. I don’t retaliate, I cause problems in order to keep control over her, and to manipulate them both. I don’t suffer with mental health problems, I’m simply an abusive narcissistic sociopath. I’m a druggy and an alcoholic. I don’t have any emotions, I am completely empty but will try to imitate other people’s emotions in order to seem normal. I cause trouble wherever I go. Because I cause these problems on social media that must mean I’m every account that adds them that they don’t know, I have hacked GF’s Twitter, I have even made a fake Twitter account of my cousin who is just a toddler.

5. When I speak to my brother which is rare, we talk about how things at college are going, we reminisce about our childhood, I’ll ask how things are at home in terms of ‘is he happy?’.

When I speak to my brother, it is purely to find out information to use against them. I talk about them all the time, insulting and belittling them. I try to manipulate my brother into hating them the way I do.


That’s 5 stories of what’s happened and/ still happens primarily with GF, one true and one false. Can you guess which is which? Of course if GF had her way you’d all be saying option 2 for each number. Option 1 was the truth. Everyday on social media I am reminded that option 2 is what GF, my Dad, my family, and all their friends honestly believe. After everything I went through and still go through everyday, I’ve been labelled as a narcissist which will likely stick for the rest of my life.

But I didn’t write this blog to be about me, or to feel sorry for myself. I wrote this blog because it is so common nowadays for victims of any abuse to be labelled for life as a bad person. Whether it be by one person or by a group of people, there is this perception with some people that means they can’t see the fault in the abuser. You must have asked for it, your dress was too short, you swore once, you had a different opinion. You asked for it. And that males me question how far has society actually come when people see someone who’s been through such an ordeal as a narcissist? Not only is there a stigma around talking about it, there is a stigma around having been through it. Something that was completely out of your control.

If you’re reading this, and you feel like you’ve been through this I’m telling you from my heart; you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t ask for it. Nothing you could have possibly done warranted any form of abuse.  You’re always welcome to contact me because you’ll never be alone in being blamed for your abuse, some people will always be blind to the truth.

This blog is a reminder of why if you have been through abuse, or suffer with misunderstood mental illness it. Is so. Important that we stand up and fight together. We must fight the stigma, for our children, and their children, and their children. So should anyone else go through abuse, they are not blamed by their abuser or anyone. Let’s break the stigma together and show those narrow minded idiots who’s really at fault here.

Laura x


 Contact details;

TWITTER: @BorderlineTales


A Quick “How Do You Do?”

So, I thought it probably best to post a quick “how do you do?” if you like, in order to introduce myself. Rather than that, than delving straight into my deepest darkest secrets, huh? The post may ramble a little, but that’s just me and there will probably be more rambling to come with future posts, but, if you’re OK with that then enjoy a little bit of background history on myself. Enjoy.

CW: contains references to abuse, self harm, overdose, and suicide (with no graphic content).

Hi, I’m Laura. I’m 19 years old and I live in the northwest of England. Pretty boring right? Well bare with me it will get more interesting as we go along. I live in a flat with my pet tenrec (not hedgehog) Perry. I am sufferer of EUPD (formerly known as BPD), as well as agoraphobia with Panic Disorder. Whilst I only got these diagnosises in October of 2016, I’ve had ongoing issues with my mental health since 2012. I’m into my music, art, and gaming. I spend a lot of time on social media, bordering being an addict, but what’s a girl to do when she wont leave the house? Anyway with that out of the way I’ll start telling you a bit about my past, and how we came to be in this beautiful mess.

For the younger years of my childhood I lived with both parents, until they split, your stereotypical divorced parents. When I was 7 my brother and I moved away with my Mum to be closer to my grandparents, we saw less and less of my Dad, and my Mum was isolated from her friends, here is where the story begins…

Sadly my Mum had a child when she was just 14, she named the little girl Zoe, but Zoe had to be put up for adoption (I didn’t know this until much later), so for years and years my Mum had carried around this pain (14 to be exact). As her and her friends from our hometown grew further and further apart, my Mum found herself fighting a losing battle with inner demons I will never be able to understand. As she fought she lost all hope and seeked for answers at the bottom of a bottle. By now I would have been turning 10/11. At first she’d just pass out on the couch, leaving me to cook for my 5 year old brother, and make sure we got to bed OK. We’d wake up in the morning like everything was normal. But, as time went by the passing out wasn’t the only problem, she’d become passive aggressive, blaming me for “ruining my brothers life” out of no where, intimidating me waving a cigarette in my face, punishing me for things I hadn’t done. She’d even begin cooking tea, then half way through she’d become adamant we’d eaten. I’d point out the food in the oven and ask if she’d been drinking, to which she’d respond by making me sniff everything in the kitchen for booze. This became the tipping point.

Meanwhile whilst this had all be occurring, my Dad had found himself a ‘delightful’ new girlfriend, who he took out on dates and whatnot whilst for fours years he’d taken us out only a handful of time, oh and did I mention, she’s twenty years younger than him. So at the time, I’d held a lot of resentment toward him for that, but he saved the day when my Mum got worse, in the end anyway. The first time, he took us away, we stayed away a week, and then knowing she was still drinking he took us back. 24 hours we were there before he had to come and get us again. That was the last time I saw my Mum for four years. I hated her at the time, because how could she do that to her children, how naive was I. In the end it all made sense, I’d found out she’d wanted to call me Zoe so when she took her anger out on me, it had made sense that I never lived up to this flawless image she had of Zoe.

If you’re struggling to keep up, my brother and I are now in my Dad’s Β care, having no contact with my Mum. OK, so we’re loving being at my Dad’s because hey, it’s beats where we were before, and his girlfriend is being lovely for the 4 days a week she was there, and my Dad’s driving us twenty miles each day to school. Until my grandparents decided that they had enough. They owned the house we’d been living in with my Mum so they made the decision to evict her because actually the house was for us kids. Before long we moved back in but with Dad this time. Everything was lovely.

Soon enough, I was turning 11, I was heading into high school, making a Facebook account, and getting the preteen attitude we all know too well, same as any other kid. Dad was fine with this, he was prepared for my attitude, he’d had 11 years of preparation for this. His “wonderful” girlfriend however, was only a mere ten years older than me, 21, with no social life, no life experience to guide her through the storm. All of a sudden I became the “demonic” child. Once again, my world was on a sure path to crashing down all over again.

We kept hamsters, mine at this point was called Treacle; Tufty’s heir to the throne. One night, I’m up a little late cleaning out Treacle’s cage, my Dad’s girlfriend is minding us. Of course my brother is in bed, so it’s just myself and Dad’s girlfriend. She had asked me to hurry up, so I’d sure, I’ve just got this, this, and this to do. A whole 2 minutes past before she got an attitude and said no you need to go to bed you were supposed to go to bed [this] long ago. I’d pulled a face, confused as to why she’d snapped so suddenly, I’d never seen anything like it, so out of the blue. She stood up, came in my direction, kicked the hamsters cage at me, so I screamed “what the f*** are you doing?!” to which she replied “I’m calling your Dad to come home!”. Β I’d hurled some abuse at her telling her it was a good job because she’s not capable of looking after us. Soon enough my dad was home, I pointed out that my foot was bleeding because she had kicked the hamster cage at me, so he went straight upstairs, and I followed but into my room. He shouted me down before long, and sat me in the middle of the room on a stool. He asked me what had happened, so I explained. All of a sudden I must have unleashed an almighty beast because his girlfriend was running at me screaming “I’m going to kill you, you c***!!!”. My dad had to restrain her whilst I ran upstairs, crying my eyes out. What might seem like a pointlessly long story to you, was a crucial part in what’s to come, this was the first ever incident between myself and my Dad’s girlfriend (who we will refer to as GF from now on) and the first of any proper arguments since we had left my Mum. Although my brain is a little foggy I think before this, I’d had a phone call with my Mum, so there was a hint of jealousy.

Things from this point just went from bad to worse, in short GF just lost all interest in playing the stepmum. She was no longer centre of attention, during the school holidays we were getting in the way of their sex life, even during term time, Dad was busy a lot, so I can see why someone would get frustrated. It started off small things, like one day my brother being 6, was messing around, fell over the laundry basket and hurt himself. GF had refused to help, so I got mad. I questioned her, and asked why she wasn’t helping she was supposed to be the adult, to which I got told it was his own fault. He was 6?! Sure enough, she called my Dad home, and I was the bad guy. This started a trend of her not speaking to me for weeks on end, every time she was at our house, I just wasn’t allowed to speak to her. So I’d start to hide away in my room. But somehow I was still annoying her. I began growing increasingly self concious and just wanted to know why she was being so horrible to me. Never really thinking of how intrusive I was being, I’d read her journal, I just wanted to know why she was so mad at ,e. I’d find erotic novels about her and my dad, or her and celebrities, I’d avoid them and flip through the entries about how I had glanced at her, or how I was brown nosing my Dad… Because I’m not allowed to be nice to my own Dad. She’d write things like my Dad was wrapped around my little finger for not punishing me for these things. So for years we’d argue, not speak, resolve things, argue, not speak, resolve things, and despite my Dad’s best efforts we could never see eye to eye. We were just never going to get on. This carried on even when we moved to a new house. A new start you’d think. I think not.

The cycle continued like always, only now she had been diagnosed with really bad anxiety. I can relate. But this anxiety was suddenly causing her to not be able to ignore noise that was upstairs when she went to the toilet but couldn’t be heard downstairs. And this anxiety meant I wasn’t allowed to put her clothes in the dryer to use the washing machine. And this anxiety meant I now had to be a mind reader and not get in the bath when she was mentally planning one. And this anxiety meant she was allowed to bully me, but not through her own words and actions. No. My dad had to play advocate to all this, or she would kick off. I’d have my stereo on upstairs because I dare to sit downstairs, she’d come up to use the toilet, hear it, go down and my Dad would have to come up and make me turn it down. He’d roll his eyes along with me and I’d turn it down one level, but she’d come up to check. And this all became a constant thing. Sure enough it began to take its toll on my Dad and he was no longer rolling his eyes with me, he was throwing me around the room for answering back. I didn’t understand what I’d done that was so wrong… I’d go to school with bruises and have to lie. He’d take my phone and netbook off me but I’d scream and scream and scream because I wasn’t allowed out, that was my only touch with the outside world. So he’d give in. I wanted attention from somewhere, so I’d behave inappropriately online. I just wanted someone to love me. But the throwing turned into punching, and slapping, and breaking my belongings. I was the root of pure evil even before he knew what I had been doing. If I tried to speak with the family when GF was around, I’d get to,d I wasn’t part of the conversation. They’d go out on family trips to macdonalds, even blue planet, and guess who wasn’t invited. Yep, it was me. So my behaviour got worse and all the more inappropriate. I dated a 24 year old man when I was 15. I didn’t want to be left out anymore, I just wanted someone’s affection. So I got it. But things just kept getting worse at home. I started to self harm, and tried to overdose. I finally told my Dad and he tried to care but as soon as he was mad I’d get told “You’re a psychopath just like your Mum, go and drown yourself in the bath”, even after my Mum passed away. I stopped attending school because I was having panic attacks everyday, my attitude got worse because why should I be kind to this man? The man who claimed to love me, yet hurt me so badly.

One day it all came to an end after 4 years. I’d been into school for once, and my Dad had picked us up. He didn’t speak to me the whole way home, so I couldn’t work out why he was mad. I tried to spark up a conversation once we got home, telling him about one of my horrible teachers at school. He turned around and he asked me “why are you talking to me?”… I looked at him confused; “I’m just telling you what happened at school?”. He replied “no you’re attention seeking, every time you talk to me you’re attention seeking!”. “So im not allowed to talk to my own dad?” I asked. He told me “Shut up I don’t want to talk to you.”. I took my sausage rolls in the living room, and sat watching TV, screaming at the TV because I’m an attention seeker, so on and so on. My dad came in, and he made a snide comment. To this day I don’t remember what he said, but I saw red. I stood up, sick to my stomach, I took the sausage roll, and threw it at him. Took my plate into the kitchen, and as I turned around, BANG. He punched me in the face. And again. And again. And again. And again. Every time, banging my head off the boiler. My ten year old brother stood in the doorway squealing “Dad what are you doing?”. I will never be able to shake that from sound from my mind. My Dad stopped. I took a breath. I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me. I’d been punched in the nose by a 40+ year old, 20st man. And took each one without a sound or a movement. I rang the police and he was taken into custody…

I’ve not seen my Dad in three years. Since then I’ve lived with my Aunty, my friend, two hostels, another friend, a care leavers home, a supported flat, and now my own flat. I’ve fell apart more times than I can count, and as result, I’m now an agoraphobic borderline warrior with panic disorder. No family around me, just myself, and a constant reminder through socia media sights that I’m the bad one.

I hope you managed to get through all of that, hopefully now my future (shorter) posts will make sense to you. As for me, I’m officially emotionally exhausted from writing this, so until next time readers. Remember, you’re never alone.

Laura x